


give into forever

by positivelystisaac



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: "the sex" who tf do i think i am, AU, Alive Allison Argent & Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alive Laura Hale, Derek Has a Crush on Stiles, Derek is in some shit, M/M, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles is a Doctor, Warnings May Change, aka it'll be listed as explicit when the sex happens, aka my first time posting smut, but not as bad as canon derek is, going to be explicit at some point, he's bad at feelings, i don't know how to tag fics, if you're ok watching greys anatomy you'll be totally fine with this fic, medical setting for some of the story, no graphic depictions of injuries/violence, peter still sucks, so be nice to me ok, tagging this was so stressful i seriously have no clue how to do this, with semi-detailed medical things, woooooo yay laura
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 13:05:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11185713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/positivelystisaac/pseuds/positivelystisaac
Summary: If anyone was going to wake Derek up in the middle of the night with a text that wasn’t even meant for him, he’d be damned if it wasn’t Stiles Stilinski.Or, the one where Stiles saves lives and Derek has a secret.





	give into forever

**Author's Note:**

> So in a shocking turn of events, I wrote a Sterek fic??? New chapters should be up often, as I have the majority of this story already written. 
> 
> (Title from Lost Boy by Troye Sivan)

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do for you right now,” Isaac repeats himself for what feels like the forty second time.

“You can tell him that Laura Hale is asking for him personally.”

“Is that supposed to mean anything to me?”

“Laura, go sit down,” a deep voice comes through the phone in her hand. “I’m almost there.”

She brings the phone back up to her ear and hisses, “Just get here.” She drops the phone in her purse and looks back up at Isaac. “You have to let me see him,” she pleads.

“Ma’am, like I told you– until the doctor comes out and gives the okay, I can’t let you through those doors,” Stiles hears as he pushes through the doors in question and looks around the waiting room.

“And like I told you– tell the doctor that Laura Hale wants to speak with him or her personally. Now.”

“Once again, that name doesn’t mean anything to me,” Isaac says, totally unamused. “When the doctors are finished, they’ll come out and update you. You’ll find out then if you can go back. Until then, I need you to please take a seat.”

“No, you don’t understand,” she insists. “My uncle, he-”

“I do understand, actually. Because we’ve been over it several times now. Your uncle needs his medicine. The doctors have been made aware, and if they find that he does need it, they will give it to him. I promise.”

“Hey, I’m here,” a man’s voice yanks Stiles out of stealth eavesdropping mode, as his head shoots up from where he had it buried in a chart to see if the body attached to the voice is equally as dreamy.

Stiles is _not_ disappointed.

 

The voice belongs to a tall, suit-clad man with what Stiles can only assume is an _incredible_ body underneath. And if he wasn’t busy drowning in those blue-gray eyes, Stiles would definitely be thinking about how that stubble would feel against his jaw, preferably while he’s pressed against a wall.

Stiles watches as he places a hand on the woman’s shoulder and says something to her quietly. Her mouth shoots open, her eyebrows raised, but before she can say anything, he whispers something in her ear. She turns around silently and walks over to the seating area.

Whoever this guy is, he’s a crazy-lady whisperer. Stiles is sure of it. And here, he thought mystical creatures were only in Westeros.

“I’m sorry about her,” super-hot-crazy-lady-whisperer says to Isaac. “She’s just worried. And between you and me, she’s not used to not getting her way.” His voice is quiet and calm, a welcome surprise in the midst of a hectic emergency department. Stiles thinks for a minute that he could take a bath in that voice, until he decides he’d rather take a bath with its owner. He glances up again and steals another look at the guy and _good lord_ this might be the most beautiful person that Stiles has ever laid his eyes upon.

His olive skin a stark contrast to his perfectly white teeth, those insane blue-gray eyes shrouded behind the thickest, longest black eyelashes Stiles has ever seen. He would've let his mind wander to what else on his body might be long and thick, but he’s too busy being robbed of his daydreams as Isaac’s voice cuts in.

“All I can tell you is the same thing that I told her, which is that the doctors will come out when they have an update for you guys. She told me he needed his medicine, which the doctors are aware of. They’ll administer it if necessary. Until a doctor comes out or I get the updated chart, I have no information for you.”

“Okay, thank you,” the guy says, nodding. “Any idea when that could be?”

Isaac shakes his head. “They brought him in a half hour ago, so probably pretty soon. You can have a seat and I’ll call you up as soon as I hear anything, okay?” 

“Yeah, that’d be great, thank you.”

Stiles glances up. “What’s the name?”

“Jesus, Stilinski!” Isaac exclaims, spinning in his seat to face Stiles. “How long have you been there?”

“I dunno, minute or two?” he reaches over Isaac’s shoulder to grab a pen out of the cup next to the computer. He makes a note on the chart in his hand before adding, “Not my fault you’re the least observant person on the planet.”

Isaac sighs, getting up and walking off. “One sec,” Stiles says, dropping into Isaac’s seat and typing quickly. As soon as he finishes, he looks up. “What’s the name? Of the patient.”

“Uh, Hale. Peter Hale.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s with Dr. Martin. Best of the best. Just wait here, okay? Let me see what I can find out.”

He follows Isaac through the double doors leading into the triage area. “Lydia!” he calls down the hallway. Sure enough, she pokes her head out of one of the patient rooms. “Whaddya got?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he says, slipping into the room behind her. “Need an update for the family.” 

“Uh, single-car MVC, GCS 13 when he came in. Bringing him up to surgery now to set this leg,” she says, nodding towards a nasty compound fracture. “If they want to see him, they can come back now while we prep him, but that gurney starts rolling in four minutes.”

Stiles nods, jogging down the hallway and back into the waiting room.

“You wanna see him?” he asks the guy. He nods, motioning for the girl from before to come over. Stiles leads them back, nodding to Isaac on their way through the swinging doors. “So he was in a car accident, and all things considered, he’s in pretty good shape. He broke his leg, so they’re about to take him into the OR to repair it. It looks worse than it is, so be prepared for that. Other than that, just bumps and bruises.”

“Thank you,” hot guy says.

“They gave him his medicine?” the girl asks.

“I’m not sure, let me check,” Stiles pulls the chart out of the basket on the outside of the door. “Uh, yeah, they gave him a round about twenty minutes ago. Dr. Martin’s in there with him, she can answer any more questions you have.” He drops the chart back into the basket and opens the door, letting them into the room. He slides down the wall to sit on the hallway floor and pulls out his phone while he waits. No more than twenty seconds go by before the hot guy comes back out.

“Everything okay?” Stiles asks, glancing up from his phone.

He shrugs, sitting down beside Stiles. “He’s not my biggest fan right now, is all.”

“Dad?” Stiles asks.

“God, no. My uncle.”

“I won’t ask,” Stiles says, even though the nosy little kid inside him is  _dying_ to know what happened in those twenty seconds.

“Thanks,” hot guy says, leaning back against the wall. “And thank you for this. For dealing with my sister, especially.”

“Oh, yeah. No problem. Happy to help. Isaac, the uh, the nurse out there, his hands are tied when it comes to stuff like this, so your best bet is getting face time with a doctor.”

“Well I really appreciate it. Doctor…?”

“Stilinski. Stiles Stilinski.”

“That’s quite the name.”

“It’s a nickname, I promise,” Stiles replies. “My parents aren’t _that_ crazy. Just crazy enough to give me some long Polish name I still can’t pronounce after living with it for 29 years.”

“Well, Dr. Stilin-”

“Call me Stiles.”

“Well, _Stiles,_ thank you. I’m Derek.”

“Nice to meet you, Derek.”

“And that’s my sister Laura, who isn’t usually rude like she was back there,” he says, nodding towards the room. “Ever since she got married and had my nephew, she’s turned into the embodiment of _can I speak with your manager._ Must be a mom thing. Anyway, I’m sure dealing with people like her is not why you decided to practice medicine, so allow me to apologize on her behalf.”

“Oh, no, that’s exactly why I decided to go to med school,” Stiles deadpans. “Can’t be assed over the whole saving lives thing, but dealing with patient’s family members? That’s my true calling.”

Derek is silent for a second, brow furrowed before Stiles breaks into a grin. “You’re joking. Thank god. You had me worried for a second.”

“That I really did go into medicine for the patient drama?” Stiles shakes his head. “No way. The doctor drama though? Definitely worth nine years of school and six figures of student loans.”

Derek laughs. “Not even that. More that if it _were_ true, I made fun of you for it just minutes before your colleagues are about to operate on my uncle.”

“Oh no, I’m much sneakier than that when seeking revenge,” Stiles replies. “‘When you least expect it, expect it’ sorta thing.”

“That so?” Derek asks.

Stiles settles for a shrug and a smirk.

Derek nods, corners of his lips sneaking up into a smile. “Okay, I see how it is.”

“Yo, Stiles,” Lydia says, coming out of the room. “I just got paged for a transplant. Can you take this?”

“Yeah, got it.” He turns to Derek. “I gotta go put your uncle’s leg back together. I’ll send updates as often as I have ‘em.”

“Yeah, thank you. Seriously.”  

“Yeah, you got it,” Stiles says, standing up and disappearing down the hallway.

 

 

“So, you gonna tell me what I walked in on earlier?” Lydia asks later that night, walking into the ED on-call room. Stiles is the only one in there, laying sideways on the bottom bunk of one of the three beds. He’s facing the wall, his back to her as she closes the door.

He sighs. “Lydia, I’m sleeping.”

“You’re playing Candy Crush.”

“No, I’m sleeping.”

“Your phone screen is lighting up your face, Stiles. If you’re gonna lie to me, at least turn your brightness down.”

“Oh my god, _fine._ What do you want?” Stiles sighs, dropping his phone onto the bed and sitting up.

“Are you holding out on me?”

“No, nothing happened. We were just talking.”

“About having sex on the ED floor? Or was that just what your eyes were saying?”

“Oh my god, Lydia.”

“You don’t exactly have the best track record,” she points out with a small grin.

“That was so different and you know it. He was an EMT, not a patient’s nephew, and it was in an on-call room, not the ED floor.”

“You had sex with an EMT in an on-call room?”

“Yeah, what were you talking about?”

“You and Isaac in a patient room last year.”

“Oh. Well that-”

“Oh my god, was it this on-call room?” she interrupts, glancing around.

“No. And what I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted was that that one doesn’t count because it was after the Christmas party and I wasn’t in my right mind. Plus, the floor was empty, so there were no patients around. Plus, it was Isaac.”

“You have a sex-in-the-hospital problem, my friend.”

“At least I’m getting laid,” he shoots back.

“Fuck off and scoot over.” Stiles does, and she lays down beside him. “I’m having trouble finding a diagnosis. Can I pick your brain?”

“Okay, let’s hear it.”

“Twenty nine year old male, can’t stop sleeping with people in the hospital.”

“Oh my god, I’m going to kill you,” he says, laughing.

“I’m thinking it’s sex-in-the-hospitalitis. What do you think?”

“I think you’re the worst.”

“So you’re not gonna sleep with that guy?” She asks after a minute.

Stiles grins. “I never said that.”

“Listen,” she says after a moment. “There was something weird about his uncle’s injuries. I just… I can’t figure it out. But there’s no way it was a fender bender like he told the paramedics. He said he got rear ended at a stop light. Which makes no sense, because he wasn’t near a stop light. And he was in a 25 mile an hour zone. Even if he got hit at a full 25 miles an hour, it wouldn’t have caused that much damage.”

“Wait, he got that nasty fracture from a fender bender?” Stiles asks, brow furrowed.

“That’s what he said. He couldn’t get his story straight about where he was and how the accident happened, even though he had a pretty high GCS. But the weirdest part is that the paramedics said there was no damage to his car.”

“You’re right, that’s weird. But that doesn’t mean he’s a bad person,” Stiles protests. “And Derek probably has nothing to do with it.”

“I dunno, they seemed pretty pissed at each other when he came into the triage room,” she adds. “Look, I’m not trying to jump to conclusions or anything here. Just be careful, is all.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, but his mind is elsewhere already.

Lydia leans over and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I just don’t want you getting caught in the middle of anything,” she says. She pulls the blanket off Stiles and burrows beneath it, closing her eyes. “Wake me up in twenty.”

Stiles nods absentmindedly, thoughts of Derek swirling through his head. Lydia’s breathing has evened out, and Stiles is hit with a wave of jealousy that she can fall asleep so quickly at a time like this. He reaches over her and grabs her tablet from the edge of the mattress, careful not to make any sudden movements that could wake her. He pulls up Peter Hale’s chart and reads through it.

Lydia’s right. There’s no way a tiny fender bender could’ve injured him the way he was. But he’s gonna give him the benefit of the doubt. At least until he can get to the bottom of things. Stiles sighs, tossing the tablet onto the blanket and closing his eyes.  

 

Stiles is barely through the hospital doors the next morning when his pager starts going off.

 ** _911 - RECOVERY 2_**  

Peter Hale’s room. He swears under his breath, running for the stairs. “Someone talk to me!” he demands, all but skidding into the room. Peter is lying on the floor, Isaac next to him. Two nurses are on the other side of the room, going through the supply cart and nodding as Isaac shouts orders over the sound of the monitors trilling.

“He tried to leave,” Isaac replies, looking up at Stiles. “Slipped on his way out the door and hit his head on the way down. No idea how long he was down before we found him.”

“Alright, let me in here,” he says, kneeling down next to Peter. Isaac moves out of his way as Stiles pulls his penlight out of his pocket and turns it on. “Mr. Hale, can you hear me?”

He lifts his eyelids, shining the light at each eye before flicking it away. “Shit. His pupils are blown, we gotta get in there. Page neuro and call the OR, tell them we’re coming up _now_.”  

“What’s going on?” Lydia asks, coming into the room. “I could hear you yelling from down the hall.”

“He’s herniating, probably because of a hemorrhage. Help me move him on three. Isaac, you too.”

They get him onto a gurney and all but run him to the operating room.  

“Stiles,” Lydia says once the neurosurgeon arrives and Peter is brought in. They’re in the scrub room, watching through the glass as they put him under.  

“I know,” is all he says. “I know.” He sighs, turning and walking out before she can say anything else.

As soon as he gets back downstairs to the ED, he looks through Peter’s chart for next of kin contact. He smiles when he sees Derek’s name listed, and is hit with a pang of guilt about actually enjoying this. Circumstances and all.  

He picks up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Derek?” Stiles asks, tapping his fingers against his thigh absentmindedly.

“Yeah, who’s this?”

Derek has a great phone voice, Stiles thinks. Some people sound totally different on the phone, but not Derek. “It's Stiles– Dr. Stilinski– calling from Beacon County Memorial. You’re listed as next of kin for your uncle.”

Derek mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like _that bastard._ Then, “Yeah, hi, Stiles. Is everything okay? He’s not- he isn’t dead is he?” He asks.

“He’s alive,” Stiles confirms. “But his condition has, uh, changed. Any chance you can come to the hospital so we can brief you on the recent developments?”

“I can be there in ten minutes.”

“Okay, cool. So– wow, I should not have just said cool. Sorry. That’s totally insensitive. Yeah. Well,” his face is burning red. “What I should have said is yes, that would be great if you could come to the hospital.”

Derek laughs, and Stiles thinks it’s the most perfect sound he has ever heard in his entire life.  “Okay, Stiles. I’ll be there in a few.”

“Great. Just have someone page me when you get here and I’ll come fill you in.”

Stiles’ pager goes off exactly ten minutes later. He comes out to the waiting room and leads Derek to a conference room. “Here, have a seat.”

“Wow, so official,” Derek says, sitting down. He’s swapped yesterday’s suit for jeans and a black henley that’s clinging to him in all the right places, if Stiles has anything to say about it. Which, of course, he doesn’t– not out loud, anyway– because is is a goddamn professional. “Do you do this for everyone or am I getting special treatment or something?”

Stiles grins, looking down at the tablet in front of him. “Or something.”

Derek smiles, leaning back in his char. “So, what did he do?” 

“What makes you think that he did something?” Stiles asks, out of nosiness more than anything.

Derek shrugs. “He’s just one of those people, I guess.”

It’s weird, Stiles thinks, how he knows exactly what Derek means. He nods. “Well, for what it’s worth, you’re right,” Stiles says. He can’t help but think that he’d never talk to any other next-of-kin like this, but something about Derek is different. Familiar, almost. Comfortable. “He tried to leave. He, uh, ripped out his IV and tried to walk out. But he just had a pretty significant surgery yesterday, so his legs couldn’t take him too far. He fell and hit his head.”

“Oh my god, I could kill him,” Derek says, shaking his head. "How bad is it?" 

“His brain started bleeding, which caused swelling, so we had to take him into surgery. The chief of neurosurgery is performing what’s called a craniotomy right now, where he removes part of the skull in order to relieve some of the pressure. It should take about three more hours, and then he’ll be in recovery for a few hours before we can take him off the ventilator and you can see him.”

“If he even wants to see me,” Derek says.  

Stiles nods, not really sure what else to do. “I can get you updates every hour,” he offers. “We typically request that families stay in the hospital for things like this, just in case we need to reach you for any sudden decisions or anything like that. You can wait in the waiting room or in his patient room. Or you can roam the hospital, if you’re a pacer. All the floors are circles so we get a lot of people doing laps. It’s up to you, really. Whatever you want to do.”

Derek nods, standing up. “Waiting room is fine. I should probably call my sister and let her know. You said three hours?”

Stiles nods. “Yeah, three hours 'til he’s out, and then another hour or so until he’s awake.”

“Thank you,” Derek says, holding the door open and motioning for Stiles to go through first. “I really appreciate all you guys are doing for him. And for me and my sister.”

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Stiles blurts out before he can stop himself.  

Derek nods. “Yeah, of course.”

“Do you know how your uncle got hurt? Initially, I mean. Not today.”

Derek presses his lips into a line, face suddenly serious. “Shouldn’t that be in his chart?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, it, uh, it is,” Stiles replies, fumbling for his words. “I just wasn’t on the initial team. I, uh, never got a chance to look.”

Derek nods. “Well, whatever the chart says. I haven’t talked to him.”  

“Right, sorry.”

Derek nods again, stepping past Stiles and into the waiting room. Stiles mutters every Polish swear word he knows under his breath, face burning red with embarrassment.

He makes a point to avoid crossing Derek’s path, even assigning an intern to update him regularly. Thankfully, the ED gets busy and Stiles is pulled away on a number of cases for the duration of Peter’s surgery. He almost forgets Derek is even in the hospital, until he’s in the radiology room and feels a hand on his shoulder. He startles, turning around so quickly he nearly gives himself whiplash.

“Calm down,” Lydia says. “It’s just me.”

“What do you want?” he asks, pulling his patient’s scans off the lightbox.

“Your boy is asking for you.”

“First of all, he’s not my boy. And second, I need you to lie and tell him I’m not here.”

“I am simply not doing that,” Lydia says, motioning for Stiles to pass her the scans in his hands.

“I’ll give you this GSW if you do,” he says, waving the scans. “Upper right quadrant,” he sing-songs. She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, glancing at the x-ray in his hand and considering his offer.

“Fine,” she replies, snatching the scans from his hand and disappearing out the doors.

He slumps into one of the chairs across from the lightboxes, running a hand over his face. He glances at his watch, wondering if he has time to sneak down to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee before his next rounds.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of the door opening. He glances up to see none other than Derek.

“Uh, you can’t-”

“Dr. Martin told me I could come in here to talk to you,” Derek replies. “She also told me you would say I couldn’t be here, but she told me to tell you to shut up.”

“Of course she did,” Stiles says, standing up. He should’ve known Lydia would snag his case and still blow his cover. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to thank you,” Derek says. “He’s awake and they said it looks like he’ll make a full recovery. They told me you were the one who figured it out.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I was,” Stiles says, scratching the back of his neck. “It was only because I was the first one there, though. Any of the other doctors could’ve...” his voice trails off, fully aware of his rambling.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you before,” Derek says. “I really do appreciate your help.”

“Oh, no problem,” Stiles replies, willing the blush creeping up his neck to stop in it’s fucking tracks before his face turns fifty shades of scarlet.

“I was stressed out and honestly, I don’t know what happened to him.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles insists. “Really, it’s fine. I was out of line.”

“I’m probably totally overstepping here, but is there any chance I could convince you to come over for dinner?” Derek asks. “Laura really wants to thank you properly for all you did for us- and for her behavior, I’m sure.”

“So you’re just the messenger?” Stiles raises an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“What would you say, then?”

“I’m extending the invitation on both mine and Laura’s behalves.”

“So you want me to come to dinner, too?”

Derek shakes his head, cracking a smile. “Wow, you’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?

“Sure am.”

“I want you to come to dinner, Stiles,” Derek says as Stiles pager goes off. He quickly glances down at it before grabbing the pen out of the pocket of his scrub top.

“Ask and ye shall receive.” Stiles reaches out for Derek’s hand. He scrawls his number onto Derek’s palm, not missing the buzz running through his body when their fingers touch. “I have to run, but this is my number. Use it.”

 

“All I’m saying is that Cher could beat the shit out of Celine Dion,” Stiles says, taking a sip from his beer. “Celine is the far better vocalist, but when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, Cher wins every time.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Evidence?”

“For one, she’s a septuagenarian with a six-pack.”

“Excellent point,” Laura chimes in. “One point to Stiles. And a bonus point for the big word.”

“Thank you, Laura. I knew I liked you,” Stiles says with a satisfied grin. “And Celine is Canadian, which means she’s definitely not scrappy.”

Laura nods. “Another point for Stiles.”

“She grew up with brothers. She can fight,” Derek replies.

“One point for Derek.”

“And she’s worth more-” Derek starts.

“So what?” Stiles interjects. “She can beat Cher with her bags of money? Hire a hit man? Nope. Next.”

Laura laughs, leaning across the table to give Stiles a high five. “You are my new favorite person,” she says. “Zero points to Derek. And I’m tempted to give one to Stiles for shutting you down so quickly, Der.”

“What?” Derek demands. “No way! He didn’t even let me finish my sentence.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow, challenging Derek. “Oh really? What were you possibly going to say?”

“Never mind. You two don’t deserve to hear what I had to say anyway.”

Laura and Stiles share a look. “Then I have no choice to declare Stiles the winner,” she announces. “Cher would beat Celine. Case closed.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Derek says.

“Aw, look,” Laura grins. “He’s trying to play it cool.”

“We see right through you,” Stiles says. “You’ve got defeat written all over your face.”

“Do not!”

“Oh my god, you do too! Stiles, you should’ve seen some of the temper tantrums he threw the summer we got a gamecube.”

Stiles’ eyes light up. “Oh my god, what I would give.”

They fall into a comfortable conversation, mostly Laura and Derek bantering back and forth about their childhood, with Stiles jumping in here and there to tag-team with Laura to tease Derek.

He frowns when he hears his pager go off in his pocket, knowing it means he has to leave Laura’s kitchen and return to the real world. “This better be something good,” he groans.

“Like Cher, needing treatment for Celine-induced injuries?” Derek grins.

“More like Celine needing treatment for Cher-induced injuries,” Stiles shoots back. “Not that I would ever wish ill on someone. But if there was a gun to my head and I _had_ to, I would hope that it was Celine at the hands of Cher and not the other way around.”

  

"Promise you won't let me fall in love with him," Derek says later on, still staring at the door, even though Stiles left minutes ago. It’s almost midnight, though if you asked him for the time, Derek wouldn’t have a clue. He lost track of time somewhere around the third time Stiles’ eyes lit up as he told a story, gesturing wildly with each word, a stupid grin on his face.

"As if that would be a bad thing," Laura replies, tossing a dish towel at his chest.

Derek grabs the towel and trudges over to the sink where she’s elbow-deep in dinner dishes. "It would be. And you know it."

"Derek, c'mon,” she says, pumping more soap onto the sponge. "It's time you let someone in."

"He doesn't deserve this," Derek says, motioning to himself. "He's different. He's  _good."_

“All the more reason you shouldn’t shut him out.”

Derek shrugs. 

"Listen," Laura says. "You guys are fucking meant for each other. Maybe you don't see it, but after watching the two of you go back and forth all night, I sure as hell do."

Derek shrugs again, unsure of what to say. What can he say to that? That he was happier tonight than he's been in years? That just the mere thought of Stiles makes his heart skip a little bit and his palms start to sweat with nervous excitement? That even though he's terrified of falling for him, it's all he wants to do, and he doesn't trust himself to stay away?

"What's that quote?" Laura asks. "The one about accepting the love we think we deserve? I know you don't think so, but Der, you deserve to love and be loved, no matter how many times you tell yourself otherwise."

 

 

Eleven blocks over, Stiles is sitting in bed reading over patient files for rounds the next morning. He got home a little after midnight, though if you asked him for the time, he wouldn’t have a clue. He lost track of time when a rosy blush crept up Derek’s neck and found its home on his cheeks while Laura started told a story from his teenage years.  

He puts his tablet away and grabs his phone off the charger.  

**STILES: Hey :) Thanks for dinner. You guys are seriously awesome.**

_DEREK: Hey, no problem. You’re welcome anytime_.

**STILES: Laura mentioned you’re somewhat of a beer connoisseur or something??**

_DEREK: Or something._

**STILES: There’s this super cool brewery in downtown Beacon. If you’re ever looking for something to do and someone to show you all their best-kept secret brews, I’m your guy.** ****

_DEREK: That would be great._

**STILES: How about this weekend? Or am I being too forward?**

_DEREK: Not at all. This weekend is perfect._

 

Stiles smiles, locking his phone and tossing it onto the mattress beside him. And that’s how he finds himself three days later, stumbling backwards behind the Beacon Brewery, with Derek’s hands on his waist, warm breath against his lips.

“I’m not reading this wrong, am I?” Derek asks, backing Stiles against the wall. He places a hand on the wall on either side of Stiles’ face. “Because if I am, you can stop me.”

Stiles shakes his head, breath hitching in his throat, “N-no. Don’t you dare stop.”

Derek doesn’t have to be told twice.

 


End file.
